The Way We Live Now Anthony Trollope (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) 📖

latter speech Mr. Melmotte got through very glibly, and then immediately left the chair, so as to show that the business of the Board was closed for that day without any possibility of reopening it.

Paul went up to him and took him by the sleeve, signifying that he wished to speak to him before they parted. “Certainly,” said the great man bowing. “Carbury,” he said, looking round on the young baronet with his blandest smile, “if you are not in a hurry, wait a moment for me. I have a word or two to say before you go. Now, Mr. Montague, what can I do for you?” Paul began his story, expressing again the opinion which he had already very plainly expressed at the table. But Melmotte stopped him very shortly, and with much less courtesy than he had shown in the speech which he had made from the chair. “The thing is about this way, I take it, Mr. Montague;⁠—you think you know more of this matter than I do.”

“Not at all, Mr. Melmotte.”

“And I think that I know more of it than you do. Either of us may be right. But as I don’t intend to give way to you, perhaps the less we speak together about it the better. You can’t be in earnest in the threat you made, because you would be making public things communicated to you under the seal of privacy⁠—and no gentleman would do that. But as long as you are hostile to me, I can’t help you;⁠—and so good afternoon.” Then, without giving Montague the possibility of a reply, he escaped into an inner room which had the word “Private” painted on the door, and which was supposed to belong to the chairman individually. He shut the door behind him, and then, after a few moments, put out his head and beckoned to Sir Felix Carbury. Nidderdale was gone. Lord Alfred with his son were already on the stairs. Cohenlupe was engaged with Melmotte’s clerk on the record-book. Paul Montague finding himself without support and alone, slowly made his way out into the court.

Sir Felix had come into the city intending to suggest to the Chairman that having paid his thousand pounds he should like to have a few shares to go on with. He was, indeed, at the present moment very nearly penniless, and had negotiated, or lost at cards, all the I.O.U.s which were in any degree serviceable. He still had a pocketbook full of those issued by Miles Grendall; but it was now an understood thing at the Beargarden that no one was to be called upon to take them except Miles Grendall himself;⁠—an arrangement which robbed the card-table of much of its delight. Beyond this, also, he had lately been forced to issue a little paper himself⁠—in doing which he had talked largely of his shares in the railway. His case certainly was hard. He had actually paid a thousand pounds down in hard cash, a commercial transaction which, as performed by himself, he regarded as stupendous. It was almost incredible to himself that he should have paid anyone a thousand pounds, but he had done it with much difficulty⁠—having carried Dolly junior with him all the way into the city⁠—in the belief that he would thus put himself in the way of making a continual and unfailing income. He understood that as a director he would be always entitled to buy shares at par, and, as a matter of course, always able to sell them at the market price. This he understood to range from ten to fifteen and twenty percent profit. He would have nothing to do but to buy and sell daily. He was told that Lord Alfred was allowed to do it to a small extent; and that Melmotte was doing it to an enormous extent. But before he could do it he must get something⁠—he hardly knew what⁠—out of Melmotte’s hands. Melmotte certainly did not seem disposed to shun him, and therefore there could be no difficulty about the shares. As to danger;⁠—who could think of danger in reference to money entrusted to the hands of Augustus Melmotte?

“I am delighted to see you here,” said Melmotte, shaking him cordially by the hand. “You come regularly, and you’ll find that it will be worth your while. There’s nothing like attending to business. You should be here every Friday.”

“I will,” said the baronet.

“And let me see you sometimes up at my place in Abchurch Lane. I can put you more in the way of understanding things there than I can here. This is all a mere formal sort of thing. You can see that.”

“Oh yes, I see that.”

“We are obliged to have this kind of thing for men like that fellow Montague. By the by, is he a friend of yours?”

“Not particularly. He is a friend of a cousin of mine; and the women know him at home. He isn’t a pal of mine if you mean that.”

“If he makes himself disagreeable, he’ll have to go to the wall;⁠—that’s all. But never mind him at present. Was your mother speaking to you of what I said to her?”

“No, Mr. Melmotte,” said Sir Felix, staring with all his eyes.

“I was talking to her about you, and I thought that perhaps she might have told you. This is all nonsense, you know, about you and Marie.” Sir Felix looked into the man’s face. It was not savage, as he had seen it. But there had suddenly come upon his brow that heavy look of a determined purpose which all who knew the man were wont to mark. Sir Felix had observed it a few minutes since in the Boardroom, when the chairman was putting down the rebellious director. “You understand that; don’t you?” Sir Felix still looked at him, but made no reply. “It’s all d⁠⸺ nonsense. You haven’t got a brass farthing, you know. You’ve no income at all; you’re just living on your mother, and I’m afraid she’s not